The Gruff Stranger
by Andrea Churchill
Summary: Hawley Griffin, and my OC Alice Ferguson, set in modern times. What if Hawley went to the Ferguson family and, in the process, met Alice rather than going to Marvel?
1. Chapter 1

**The Gruff Stranger **

_Just a little romance between The Invisible Man, Hawley Griffin, and my OC Alice Ferguson, set in modern times. What if Hawley went to the Ferguson family (and, in the process, met Alice) rather than going to that meek naïve man whom in the original novel he bossed around and threatened and made him do stuff like steal back his books (I forget the man's name)? That's how I pictured the situation. I hope you like it. I warn you, it gets kind of cheesy though, especially in the end. Not exactly a lemon, but close. _

_*Also, later in the story Alice says she 'writes a poem'. The poem is not mine! It's actually lyrics to a song called 'Ready, Able' by a band named Grizzly Bear. (Don't sue me, Grizzly Bear!)_

_I was inspired to write this by Jack and Flora from the original 1933 film; such a gorgeous relationship. Jack, R.I.P. 3 _

I had his tea ready, and his meal. I cooked it myself, as I always did; a simple dinner of chicken, mashed potatoes and broccoli…nothing fancy. It never is.

I remember that night well. It was the second night of my parents' vacation. They had gone away to celebrate their honeymoon, while I stayed here, in my home, with the responsibility of serving our boarder, Mr. Griffin.

I might as well start off with how he first came to us Fergusons. The memory is so clear right now, I can still feel that early morning chill and that white glistening, silent trickle of snowfall in the early of December.

It had come to be just about the second week, at about ten or eleven o'clock in the morning. My parents were up; my mother sitting in the kitchen reading the day's newspaper and drinking her daily mug of coffee. My father was in the living room, sitting on the sofa, reading quietly.

I myself was in the kitchen, busily cooking a quick but hearty breakfast and some tea or coffee, whatever we had around. I chose to make both.

It wasn't before long after I sat down to eat when we all heard the doorbell ring. Now who, one might ask, would be ringing our doorbell at this hour, and in this weather? For it was, indeed, a blizzard out there. All the windows were shut to block out the cold and the snow. We could all see the heavy top coat of white fluff over everything in sight, with no prints or marks. It was all too stupid to be outside. The wind was howling.

We had all got up and exchanged confounded glances before all of us quickly got up and scurried to the door. We raced to look through the window. My dog, Tricks, woke up and barked, chasing the excitement. My mother hushed her.

I arrived at the door first, coming close with my father. I pushed him aside, playfully and yet slightly harsh. I had that tendency to wait on those in need. If somebody needed something, in this weather, I was likely the one to help.

Mr. Griffin was lucky for that. If it weren't for me, my parents would have sent him packing along, back out into the storm. The early weather today said the cold was below about two degrees. That wasn't normal for our region. When I look back on it today, I think of it as an omen, for what was to come.

I looked through that window, my parents crowding my back, and it was difficult to see our man. Along with the blizzard whirling snow around at a constant rate, and the dull white bandages of our boarder, the end of the window was frozen. It was useless to see through the ice-covered glass. I opened the door.

I didn't know what to expect. One could only imagine the way our faces tightened and our hearts leaped when we saw the face of our soon-to-be boarder, Mr. Griffin. We saw him through the glass door, huddling within his robes and his coats and sweaters, his classy pin-stripe pants and modish shoes sinking deep into the pile of snow before our door, nearly soaked in melted flurry.

When I opened up the door, our faces peered before his body when he looked up at us, and once again our faces tightened and our hearts leaped, this time nearly triple as before. His face was stifling—that is because he had no face to be seen. The man had nearly bandages after bandages wrapped around his head in a sort of mask-like way, and a larger one used to cover his entire mouthpiece, like a bandana. He wore the most extraneous goggles…that red tint, those large rims! Besides the bandages, I believe the one thing I will never forget about Mr. Griffin were those goggles. So…so very strange!

He gazed at us for a few moments, huddling to himself, shaking from the cold. Poor thing, I kept thinking. Poor, poor thing. And yet we all simply stood there, gazing in those goggles of his. At the time, I believe we were convinced at the moment he was using those bandages and those goggles as an odd way to protect his face from the cold. I remember at the time I could somewhat imagine him as some sort of traveler from the Arctic, though from the look of his clothes, he didn't seem to be properly dressed for the adventurous profile. It looked as if he was merely lost, and looking for the home of his dear friend or just a cup of tea by the fire. By this time he was knocking on the glass. We heard his muffled voice speak, before our little jump.

"Please! Can you let me in?"

Though the words were desperate and sincere, I sensed the tone of his voice to be a little harsh, and ruthless. I didn't think much of it then, but now I see it as what it really was—a warning; foreshadowing, or a preview of what was to come, like the cold that surrounded and muffled us.

I staggered for words, still grasping the wooden door handle and the glass separating the viewer from the view. He shouted again, howling over the wind's howls.

"Please…just for a moment!"

I reached for the door handle of the screen, to let him in. My mother stopped my hand with a firm grasp. Her cold Eden eyes sent daggers into me; I felt her pools of green outlasted into a thousand suns.

"Don't! We don't know who this man is, or what he wants."

"So are we to leave him in the freezing cold like a lost pup? He seems harmless, mum!"

"Harmless as a rat. Do you see those…those goggles?!"

"I'll admit he seems strange, but it shouldn't matter. No man..." I hesitated, "No man, however _different_, has a better sense of facing a blizzard like this one!"

Before she could come up with an answer that was satisfying, I unlocked the door. I needn't have to open the door, for he let himself right in.

We stepped back as he stepped in, shaking off the snow. He reminded me of a dog being let in the house after playing in mounds of snowfall. He literally shook himself, and sent snow flying. My mother yelled in complaint.

He paused, and braced my family, and I.

"I'm sorry." He mumbled.

We all smoldered in a moment of silence before he broke the awkwardness with his plead.

"Please…I've been traveling very far in this _blasted_ weather and I need a place to rest, or possibly stay for a while."

Why, I knew he had been the adventurous type! I was widely curious about his exploits. Why was he traveling? And from where?

His accent was light, sounding to be a fellow Englishman or Scottish. His voice, above all things, was harsh. At the time I believed it to be from the cold weather. The man was near frozen.

I was unbelievably without a doubt for the idea of allowing this strange man into our home to stay and rest a while. My parents were not.

"I'm sorry sir, but we don't allow strangers into our home so unsystematically like this." My mother said.

"We have a small home, and we're not very hospitable." Father concluded.

"Please, for God's sake." He pressed. "Death is just waiting out there for me. I only need a place to rest for the night. To revive myself."

Mother shook her head, getting annoyed, and leading Mr. Griffin back out the door. "Sir, if you don't leave right now, I'm going to have to—"

"Wait—I'll pay you a sum of money." My mother stopped, curious, as Mr. Griffin reached into a deep pocket within his sweater and retrieved a thick wad of dollar bills. I viewed a clean crisp green one hundred dollar bill on the outside. I pondered as to what the man did for a living; an adventurer, surely.

"Fifty dollars for the night, I'll pay you." My parents widened their eyes just a bit.

It's not as if we were poor and we needed the money, however we all know that a chance like this to get money like that was beyond rare.

"Fifty dollars." He repeated, letting it sink in.

My mother sighed. Before she spoke, she had a slight hesitation. She looked the man up and down in an apprehensive glare.

"Alright. Just for the night. And you sleep in the basement, on the couch." She snapped, snatching the money from his hand as he lent it to her with his black leather gloved hand.

I could not tell if he smiled behind those bandages of his. He seemed content.

I led Mr. Griffin downstairs. The room was fairly messy, fairly tidy. Within the large room it was quite efficient enough for suitability; the left side of the room was occupied by a large flat screen television, a small, old blue loveseat, and a piano. The left side of the room was placed a large white dining room table with four black chairs, and a few bicycles. A dresser or two sat by the few walls.

He looked around, moving over to the loveseat. He sat down, at first not exactly knowing what to do. For the moment the strange, bandaged figure seemed…lost. Then,

"Fetch me some dry clothes and some tea….Also, go and get me some blankets…and…make a hot meal." He seemed to be scurrying around in his clothing for something.

I was astounded. The man instantaneously was demanding things from me. Nevertheless I hesitated, then sensing his rising annoyance scurried on towards one of the dressers, and took out one of my father's old sweaters, jeans, socks and underwear. In a lower drawer I fetched a few woolen blankets. I gave them to him. Before he could thank me, who I didn't predict he would do anyway, I hurried on upstairs to make his meal and his tea.

When I reached the kitchen and began making the preparations, my mother came in, suspicious of our man.

"Did you show him the basement?"

"Yes, mum."

"Did you instruct him not to touch anything but the couch?"

No…

"Yes, mum."

I set the kettle on the stove, and got a mug from the cabinet. It was black, and read: "World's Best Dad!"

"What are you doing now?"

"I thought the man could use some warm tea."

"Oh…well…sure, I suppose. But I'd keep an eye on him if I were you, Alice. He seems to be a little strange….his presence, I mean."

"Yes, mum."

She walked away, and as the tea heat up I pondered what I'd make as his meal.

I checked all the cabinets and the refrigerator, and I couldn't find much. There never was enough food for the three of us, ever. I found some bread and a few cans of soup, and decided to make just that. There really were no other options.

The tea was done early, and I carefully brought it down for him. He had changed into the new clothes, and bundled himself within the blankets, staring at the carpet. His bandages and goggles remained on his face. He also wore his gloves, and his shoes.

"Why don't you take off your shoes and gloves, sir? And those goggles of yours? And the bandages?" I handed him his tea.

"NO!" he snapped. "I'm perfectly fine, thank you. Now where's that meal?"

"Its cooking, sir. I managed to find some soup in the cabinets."

He murmured something unintelligible.

"Sir?" I asked, nearly whispering.

"What?"

His voice was like venom, hissing at every word.

"If I may ask, what is your name? May I have a name to call you?"

He hesitated for a moment. I wondered if there was an issue in letting out that kind of information.

"Griffin."

"Oh…."

We grew silent for a moment or two. I wanted to know more, but I didn't know what to say.

"Leave me! And hurry with that meal."

"Right away, sir."

I gave myself a doubtful frown as I retreated up the stairs. It was going to be a long night.

The soup cooked predominantly fast. What bothered me the entire time was Mr. Griffin's reaction to the offer to take off his goggles and bandages and such. I didn't understand why it would be an insult to be rid of them. And then, I thought…could they not merely be for warmth? Were they there for something else? Perhaps, I figured, the man's face was injured…

I took down the soup, carefully. With hope, Mr. Griffin will replenish my curiosity.

While I descended the stairs I heard a slight rustle or scuttle of some sort. When I caught sight of him, he had been fixing his bandaged mouthpiece, and his half-drunken tea was off to the side. He must have been drinking it and then once hearing me, immediately put it away and hid his face once again.

"Mr. Griffin, why do you wear those bandages? Were you injured?"

I handed him his bowl. He seemed a bit more relaxed, now; a bit more confident, even.

"Well…yes. You can say that."

"How?"

He put the soup off to the side, with the tea. Obviously he wouldn't be eating it with me around.

"I'm a scientist. A while ago there was an….accident."

"Oh…I'm sorry. If you like, we have first aid. Or we could call a doctor."

I don't know why, but the man just stared at me, gave a little snicker, then a chuckle, and then burst into hysterical laughter.

"I honestly don't think there's anything first aid or any doctor can do about it." He managed.

"Oh, well…alright. I'll let you eat, Mr. Griffin. Enjoy."

Once again I scurried back up the stairs. I didn't go back for the rest of the night.

I later learned, in the morning, that Mr. Griffin was from around here. Although his accent was very slight, he mentioned that he had to 'get away' from the country. He made it seem like the place bored him to death, or caused him some kind of emotional pain. Something had obviously happened here.

I was with my mother in the kitchen, making a simple breakfast for Mr. Griffin and I. My father had come in the room, arguing to himself over a letter. We turned to see what all the fuss was about.

"What is it, dad?" I asked.

He grumbled. "The bills this month are especially high. Damn cold…keeping the heater on all day and night certainly raises prices this winter."

"We can pay it off, cant we Harold?" my mother asked.

He grumbled again. "Hardly."

There was a slight silence in the room for a while. Our family has been struggling with money for a while now. We sensed the thrust of the pressure.

Just then, Mr. Griffin entered the room. He wore my father's old clothes from last night and his robe which had dried from the melted snow. He still wore those wretched bandages and goggles. His gloves even remained on. I can see how he would keep them from the cold, but the house was quite warm. None of us wore anything but a simple sweater and pants!

"Good morning, Mr. Griffin." I greeted, cheerfully.

"Morning." He groused.

He sauntered in the room, ignoring the dog and sitting down at the table. He rested his head in his hands.

I noticed my father's glare. I knew he questioned how and why he wore his clothes. I would have to explain to him later, the cost of Mr. Griffin's state.

I placed a plate of food in front of him. He perked up, and then seemed to slouch back into his dim state. He mumbled a thank you.

I gazed at him.

In that case, I put a bottle of pain-killers in front of him as well. He mumbled another thank you, a little more grateful this time.

My parents continued their discussion.

"Are you sure we'll be able to keep up this winter?" mum asked.

"I suppose we'll get through. We'll most likely have to turn down our use of the burner, though."

I gave a weak groan.

I hadn't seen it, but Mr. Griffin had perked up at the recognition at our discussion.

"I'd fetch the wool if I were you." Father garbled, in a brusque chuckle.

"Don't bother, Mr. Fergusson."

We all turned to see the standing figure of Mr. Griffin. His posture was erect, his hands in his pockets.

"I'll wage you a deal."

Father's head turned.

"You allow me to stay in your home throughout the winter..."

"No. We can hardly afford to keep up with our own needs. You're lucky we let you stay last night. I see we made it comfortable enough for you even so." His eyes glared in my direction. He obviously meant the clothes.

"Please, Mr. Fergusson…let me finish. You allow me to stay in your home throughout the winter, and I'll supply your wages—enough to not only bear you and your family, but with a generous opulence."

There was a silence. Sensing our insecurity, he took from his robe a small red velvet purse. He tossed it to us.

My father caught it with a loud clang. He pulled open the drawstring, and gazed at the hundreds and hundreds of shining gold coins within.

And so began our chronicle with the mysterious Mr. Griffin. The deal was set, and so were our financial expectations. Over the course of two months he stayed in our basement, and living quite satisfactory if I must speak for him. The night of the agreement, I had his dinner at hand, and as I crept to the edge of the cellar, I heard a low quarrel, coming from Mr. Griffin's own curt tone of voice. I pressed my ear to the door, and listened. Was the man talking to himself?

"_Get yourself together, Hawley. These people know nothing. They expect nothing. You must show them you have nothing to hide, no matter how much they press on their ridiculous questions. You've already aroused their suspicions, and if you keep this secrecy up they will be aroused more. Remember: eat in secrecy, and be dressed at all times. I'm sure soon enough I'll have to escape the house to keep up with the pay. And the equipment…GAH!"_

I caught an extra grumble of unintelligent phrases. Something about bottles, I think.

Hawley Griffin. His name was Hawley Griffin.

It was late. So the next morning, after I gave Mr. Griffin his food, I left the home and traveled through the snow to the town library to see if I could dig up any dirt on our boarder. It was nearly deserted.

For hours I searched through all resources I could for the name 'Hawley Griffin'. Many things came up, as did always, but I directed myself to a more peculiar set of articles and pictures.

One was from an old copy of the Edinburgh College Paper of 1885. The headline read "**EDINBURGH COLLEGE'S TOP FIVE PREVAILING STUDENTS**". There was a picture of a group of men; seven, two seeming to be the professors and the other five, obviously the students. The caption read over the men's last names: _Kemp, Griffin… _

I had to squint to look closely at the face which was supposedly Mr. Griffin. Of course I could not know if it was truly him or not, for the bandages covered his true identity. This man in the picture had quite pale skin, light hair and eyes; I could tell, even if the picture was in black in white.

Then I again took notice of the date: 1885. Then of course this was not our Griffin! _This _Griffin would have been dead by now, surely!

I returned home. Nothing was unusual—Mr. Griffin remained in the basement—I didn't disturb him except for his usual meals and such, or if he asked for anything. Usually, it was random things. Sometimes he would ask me to go out and travel to the store for him—for cigars, newspapers, things like that; which, of course, I did without question. Even if my parents did—I had gotten the fact they did not favor, or trust him even. I, on the other hand, found him quite interesting.

A few days later, then, were interesting as the man himself—a truck arrived in front of our house. At first, we were to send them away, but then Mr. Griffin came up from the basement and went outside to greet the man (seeming to be the vendor of whatever company this truck served), and (I presumed to be the action) made some kind of deal him.

Before we knew it several men were entering our home into the basement carrying several—dozens, I should say—suitcases. I approached Mr. Griffin, and asked if these were his belongings. He replied with a simple answer:

"No, not belongings. Bottles."

"Pardon, Mr. Griffin?"

"I have bottles in those cases. Not belongings."

It took me a moment to decipher the meaning of these bottles. Then,

"Because you are a scientist, correct? The bottles are for your work, or…research?" I figured noisily.

He looked at me, with what I could imagine to be a curious expression.

"Yes. I'll be working….and I'd prefer if you kept the intrusions to a tight minimum."

I was surprised he was asking me. I never intruded him, besides the meals. I wondered if he wanted me to stop sending him down the meals, then? I asked him. It actually took him some time to answer back:

"No….just...do not barge in."

I never did otherwise, but I agreed nevertheless.

My parents were nearly enraged when they found out Mr. Griffin wished to work in the basement. They tolerated the smoking, barely, but the fact that he was "getting himself comfortable" and was bringing in all these belongings in our home was beginning to push them over the edge.

I feared for our boarder Griffin. I almost wanted to warn him to keep a low profile. I remembered his rant a few days ago—about needing to show us he has "nothing to hide". Though I barely knew this man and he's only been in our home for not even a week, I felt the need to protect him.

When I came down to give him his dinner that night (after knocking, of course), he asked me to leave after I put down his food. He had set up an entire chemistry set—glass bottles and equipment were everywhere in the corner of the room. The scene was fascinating. I immediately wanted to ask him what all this equipment did and what it was for….but my lingering he replied with an exasperated glare. I didn't leave immediately, though, and I could tell he was about to yell at me. I beat him in the act, however.

"Mr. Griffin, I heard my parents speaking to each other a while earlier this morning, when the bottles were coming in."

He looked at me…like…like I said something sarcastic, almost. Like half of him thought me funny, the other half of him thought me annoying.

"I'm serious, Mr. Griffin."

I have no idea why I said that one sentence, it sounded so stupid. Why would he think me anything _but_ serious? I suppose I just wanted him to pay attention to me…..

"I'm concerned for you. They think you're getting too…."comfortable"." I was speaking lowly now. "they more irritated they get with your actions the more I'm afraid of them wanting to throw you back out in the cold. Don't…." I sighed. "Don't you think you should be keeping a low profile and…oh, try and stop their aroused suspicions? Make them sure you have nothing to hide?" I tried quoting him, to see if maybe I can reach him further. He looked at me differently now, I suppose (I never really can tell, with those awful bandages), like he _was _listening, and was getting suspicious about _me _and how much _I _really know. I thought it best to be quiet and let him speak. He didn't, for a while. When he noticed my anticipation he however caved in;

"What do you know?" he asked. I feared he would ask it, too, but I never really thought him bold enough to come right out and ask me. I sighed.

"I heard you a few days ago mumbling to yourself about wanting to "get yourself together", saying "we know and expect nothing", you must show us you have "nothing to hide" and that you must "eat in secrecy and be dressed at all times". Things like that. I got that your name is Hawley, but besides that I believe you still have us all bewildered, Mr. Griffin. Your secret isn't out _yet_, whatever _it _may be…." I knew he had something to hide. I just knew it. Why else would he be telling himself to show the three of us he "has nothing to hide"? if he wants to prove he _doesn't _have something to hide, he surely does.

He didn't say anything. He just looked at me amidst the dead silence between us. It was quite unsettling.

"Hawley?" I whispered. He seemed to perk from the change of name.

He wanted to send me away, but he knew he couldn't; I detected that much. He wanted to know if I knew more, or even if I suspected anything. He wanted to know what I thought he was hiding, or, at least, wanted to assure me he, of course had nothing to hide when he obviously did.

"I…" he began. I was actually surprised of his attitude—it was if anything, calm. But I suppose it could be mistaken from the actual incomprehension. _'Does she know?' _he must be asking himself.

I was leaning in to him. At first he backed his head away a few inches, but after that he kept still and let me proceed. I was curious, but I didn't want to cause any tension between him and I.

"Whatever it is you feel we…don't have the need to know, hasn't come across my mind as necessary information to retrieve. We all have our little secrets, no?"

He simply looked at me, wishing for me to continue. I did so without hesitation.

"Look, I don't care if you are a convict on the loose; I honestly don't. But I just want to warn you about the people who would care—and those very people are upstairs probably plotting right now how to find you out or prevent you from any further stay here—Mr. Griffin…._Hawley_." I paused.

"Whatever you need—_anything —_whether it be help, or someone to talk to for advice, or vent, or _anything_…come to me. I feel the need to help you, and I don't know why. I suppose I find you fascinating. This science—how I've always been fascinated with science and the mystery of the unknown of what mankind has been on the verge of discovering—(and with this, our very Mr. Griffin seemed to be quite intent on listening to the rest of my vent with deep interest) and the aura of adventure that comes with such a being as you! Please, Mr. Griffin, if there is ever anything you need, don't be quick to judge on others' reactions. You never know what expectations certain individuals have in this blasphemy of humanity….certain individuals meaning I." My, I certainly liked my speech. I feared of it being ruined so I quickly desired to retreat—I stopped any further conversation by saying "Your dinner's likely to be getting cold, by now" and ran off upstairs.

When I closed the door behind me I smiled at the vision of Mr. Hawley Griffin's invisible expression I could not detect in reality. What it must have looked like, though—ha! What surprise may have crossed his vision in place of pride? Oh, but I dare not to judge for I accused him of the very act just a moment ago—and still, I smiled on down the corridor—then frowned on our next meet, one I fear to come all too soon.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Gruff Stranger **

_Just a little romance between The Invisible Man, Hawley Griffin, and my OC Alice Ferguson, set in modern times. What if Hawley went to the Ferguson family (and, in the process, met Alice) rather than going to that meek naïve man whom in the original novel he bossed around and threatened and made him do stuff like steal back his books (I forget the man's name)? That's how I pictured the situation. I hope you like it. I warn you, it gets kind of cheesy though, especially in the end. Not exactly a lemon, but close. _

_I was inspired to write this by Jack and Flora from the original 1933 film; such a gorgeous relationship. Jack; R.I.P. _

And yet, certain feelings have been changing. What did I feel, exactly, for Mr. Griffin? I cared for him, but why? Why did I feel a certain sense of motherhood, almost, for this strange man? He looked to me now at various times with complicated, questionable expressions and for advice and lecture. He called to me for assistance in his research and chemical explorations. Our relationship has grown.

Each and every day was like another year between two people. So much changes all in such a small interval of time. I serve him with passion, now. He calls to me with guilt. He's been appearing in my dreams, artlessly. The offense has been almost changing. I was so curious about him, and gave anything next to nothing. It's as if his madness was ceased immediately at the moment he saw my face. His entire being transformed from one state to the next. It was as if I was the antidote he researched so hardly for.

But what feeling like this flowed through me? I looked at him so enviously for passion and understanding. What more could be exchanged, beneath all the anxiety?

A few months passed by. Yes, months! It would seem like ages ago since he had started boarding in our home. He was like a detached part of our family. The trust wasn't complete, but he paid tremendously and done us no harm whatsoever. His staying was just a continuous dream in which we all unintentionally journeyed through.

Again—a few months passed by. My parents were off to their honeymoon in London, quite a while away from the town of Iping. I was quite surprised to find them comfortable with leaving Griffin and I alone to take care of the home for their week's stay. I hadn't thought who they trusted more; me, to keep things in order, or Griffin, to not try anything he hasn't done yet, in their minds. I had always thought they still stuck to their theory that Griffin was criminal, or enigmatically disturbed. What a horrible thought—but, alas! May they have seen how his actions have been transformed beyond these past few months? Oh, I had hoped so, if this not some _test_. The madness was spreading, even, if it was there to begin with.

The day they left—the morning, really, I had been writing a poem. It followed, as of what I had written at the time:

_I'm going to take a stab at this,Surely we'll be alrightMake a decision with a kissMaybe I have frostbiteAnd when I shuffled on back homeI made sure all my tracks in the snow were goneTissue and bone it was a trystThis isn't a gunfightChecking it off of my listUnable to writeFive years, countless months and a loanHope I'm ready, able to make my own, good homeThey go we go, I want you to know, what I did I did…. _

I was finishing off that one sentence when Mr. Griffin came into the kitchen, his usual self. He was giving his best to my parents on their way off.

"Alice, be sure to take good care of the home, now. And try nothing out of the ordinary when we're gone. Be sure to remember to feed the dog, as well."

"Yes, mother. I understand the responsibility."

"And don't forget to feed the boarder, too!" my father chuckled.

Mr. Griffin and I looked at him with the slightest hint of exasperated expressions as my mother cackled at the joke. I, and I was sure I was not alone with the notion, believed it not to be funny.

"Right, well, we're off!" my father finished, as he walked out the door. My mother gave me a sweetened kiss on the cheek, gave a small nod to Mr. Griffin, and followed him out the door into the cold blistering snow. We looked at each other, Griffin and I, and we heard the door lock. The two of us, alone, trapped in this small home we were so accustomed to. But, as of now, it seemed so unfamiliar.

We hardly even spoke the first night, except for a few words here and there. It was out of my depth, almost, the situation. But later during the night, I casually had the urge to watch a movie. Something a little out of our league—we lived in 2010, Griffin, my parents and I—but we lived like members of the nineteenth century. It's been ages since I've watched anything. It was like an unbelievable dream that was unfolding when I first saw the images appear across the screen.

The movie _The Day After Tomorrow _was on in a few minutes. I called to Mr. Griffin, and asked if he wished to watch it with me. He hesitated at first, but then agreed, and came and sat down next to me on the couch.

During the entire movie we didn't talk, we didn't touch, we didn't stir. Our eyes were both carefully watching each scene, taking it in, and every so often gave an occasional sigh or so. All in all, it felt…comfortable. (More comfortable than earlier, certainly!) Personally, I thought Mr. Griffin enjoyed it. Watching the disasters, somehow, made the room, being with him, so much more at ease and warm. The situation was quite moving, really.

I shut off the television when the credits started. The TV went blank, and in half darkness the silent room felt for a second quite awkward. None of us said a word for a moment or two, and I turned to him. I didn't look him in the eye, but I stared down the fabric of his pants. I felt his eyes in my hair.

"Well? Did you like it?" I asked, not leaving my gaze. I couldn't face those large, round red goggles.

He gave a sort of grunt, but nothing else. I knew I had to look at him. He felt the avoidance.

For a second, the goggles scared me. I believe I had given a little jump.

I stared at them for a while, sensing his own hidden eyes burning through the glass into mine.

"_Thank you."_ He said, after a while.

I had paused.

"For what?" I asked, for I was completely appalled.

"For your kind hospitality. I apologize for my behavior, if I've seemed ungrateful of your service."

I was entirely taken aback. "Oh, no Mr. Griffin…_please!_ I en_joy _serving you."

"_Do you?" _he seemed to say quickly. It seemed more like a statement than a question.

I hesitated, then nod my head eventually.

I thought I could truly feel his stare burning through those goggles, and to me; I couldn't pull away. It was almost as if he had put me into a trance, with the tint of that red glass!

I don't know how it happened, honestly I didn't. But eventually, in the moment, we ended up _embracing_. For the first time since our first meet, we had finally given some kind of friendly, physical affection. I don't know if I myself pulled in at first, or he did, but it did indeed happen, and I could easily sense the inelegance we both shared within that hug.

"_Um…"_ I said, as we slowly pulled away. So slowly, my hand still remained on his shoulder, as did _his_ on the small of my back.

Again, I gazed through those thick, round lenses.

"Mr. Griffin…" I whispered, leaving his gaze and retreating to the cloth of his pants.

I didn't know if it was from the effect of those goggles, or the emotion building up inside me, but my face began to warm. My vision, for a moment, went a little blurry, and my heart skipped a beat or two. I had held my breath, and needed to gasp for air.

"_I always felt like there was something missing in my life….just the three of us, mind our unfortunate needs, it's been so lonely lately."_

Again, I hesitated for his answer. Here, I sat, next to the strangest, most extraordinary man I've ever met, and give the most profound dialects I've ever spoken.

"And here you come, the most outlandish man I've ever met into our home, and almost immediately I feel at comfort….like I have a friend, a new part of the family, _someone to love…."_

I gasped.

I sensed his apprehension. He shifted in his position, and most definitely left his gaze on me. Then, he got up, and left.

Later that _horrid _night, I had uncomfortably, regrettably and sullenly did what I could to ready for bed, taking at least an hour or two to compose myself before dozing. The night was silent. There were no persons inside the home besides Mr. Griffin and myself. Mr. Griffin, and so, was apparently nowhere to be found. I didn't expect him to leave, but the windows had been open, and I smelt the sweet scent of his cigars. It led me to the conclusion he must have been residing outside, taking in the fresh air, ironically contaminated by his own doings.

I think it was nearly two in the morning. Something had woken me up. I had _abruptly_ woken, really, quickly raising my upper body, the covers sliding off. The door slowly creaked open.

Mr. Griffin danced in, took the candle from the small table by the door, lit it, and walked over to me in bed. He sat down.

_"Hi." _I whispered.

"Hi." He answered, in his deep, groaning voice.

There was a silence. We just seemed to gaze into each other's eyes, and I, falling into an abyss of unending sky of ruby light.

Then, he took a deep breath, and spoke:

"_Why?"_

I looked to him, confused. My head had naturally tilted, as if a different angle would reveal his hidden meaning.

"_Mr. Griffin?"_ I whispered, so low even _I _could not understand myself.

"Why me?" he whispered back.

I was silent, wishing dearly for him to just continue instead of expecting an understanding answer in return, which I just could not give. Was he questioning his stay here? Or possibly an immoral action which haunted his mind?

"Why did you cast your fondness towards _me_? Of all men?"

"What?" I asked. He was being all too random! And at this absurd _time_, too!

"_Look at me_, Alice! What caused you to care for a man such as _I_?"

Ah, I see where he was going at. But, sweet Hawley, why? What thoughts have led you to this horrid conclusion of yourself? The longing, I felt, was growing much stronger.

"Could I care for _any_ man? Could I care for _any_ man I see? Of _course_ I could—but _you_, Hawley, you were the one, caught in the moment of life, came crossing paths with a mere young girl of my kind, and served certain virtues and kindnesses and knowledge she's never seen before!"

Mr. Griffin looked to me like I was some foreign object washed up mysteriously on the coast of his private, sacred, savaged island.

"I find you _fascinating_! Completely and utterly like a different power from another world, which's come to this small, tiresome town where nothing occurs and where I've been forced to be blind to the rest of the world! _You_, of all people, opened my eyes, _and_ my heart!"

I lay a hand on his breast. He flinched, but only at first.

"What do you mean, _a man such as yourself_? Surely you don't discriminate yourself?"

With this, he fell into a fit of rage and anxiety. He lifted himself off the bed, and started pacing about the room like a mad animal. He shook his head, rubbed it, and caressed his face, moving his features in his hidden, flexible skin.

"You don't even know what I _am_, do you! Do you?" he pressed.

"Should I?"

He had no audible answer. He simply paced about the room again, unintelligently mumbling to himself.

"Surely you're judgment on me would be different, I can _assure _you."

I tilted my head in curiosity. "Then don't tell me."

He turned to me, suddenly, in amazement it seemed.

"Aren't you the least bit curious? As to what I am? What it is that I've hidden?"

I gave a low giggle. "The mere fact that you _are _hiding something is interesting enough. Knowing that secret would be an entirely different matter, though still of the same accord in our relationship, Mr. Griffin. I can assure you _that_."

He did not seem to understand. I leaned towards him, indicating for him to listen closely:

"You have a secret, a mystery, yes! That doesn't get affected by the details!"

He huffed and puffed and shook his head, turning and rubbing and scratching and clawing, and again murmured, this time I _thought _I had heard correctly:

"What a squalid thing humanity can be! If only _they _had been made invisible instead of _I_!" he said in an oily, menacing voice.

"Invisible?" I repeated. Had he called _me _a squalid thing? But what have _I _done to be considered so?

He turned around to me, unsure and stuck, nervous, anxious, exhausted, menacing, expired and surprised!

I got up, approaching with curiosity.

"_Invisible…" _

I lay my hand upon his, rubbing the texture of the glove. I dared to take it off; could it be true?

The hand shook, more out of anxiety than the suggested cold, as the cloth slid off his fingers, revealing…well, nothing! _By God_, Mr. Griffin _was _invisible!

"How _captivating_!" I whispered, holding his gaping hand to my eyes, which, confidently peered through.

"You are not….?" He could not seem to finish his sentence. Perhaps he could not find the correct words.

I looked to him in his hidden eyes—"Please let me see you." I asked, finally! I attempted to remove those dreadful goggles, but he caught my hands in their own little dreadful acts.

I put them away, those naughty things—but Mr. Griffin, himself—he removed the goggles himself! And those clear, gaping two holes, very similar to black holes (two small abysses of mystery)! And those bandages, he began to remove them too! I was disappointed-yet again, so fascinated! To see nothing! Absolutely nothing!

"It's been about time for freedom!" I said, gasping miraculously at the vision that lay before me! Oh, so fascinating!

"Yes," he agreed. "Free to show the world—this, is what we have become! This; is what mankind has become! This is what we have evolved to!"

"Yes, yes!" I shouted along with him. He was fully revealed now, only not to be seen!

I took his hand. "Why hide? Why not show us all earlier?"

"Because, don't you see? The insanity humanity has become! What horrors will they carry out, seeing the truth—they will go mad! Think, Alice, of all advantages a man shall have from having abilities such as myself; invisible! Now-have you thought of them all? Now, Alice...now see these advantages in the hands of a criminal! Did you see the looks upon the faces of your parents when they saw me first? Those are the eyes of humanity! I've been through more endless means possible for my creation. But I will not allow humanity to hold me no longer!"

"And I?" I attempted to find his eyes.

"And you…what _of_ you, my dear Alice?"

"And am I a part of this squalid thing as you claim? Surely you could not place me with the rest—I'm not discriminating against your discovery—your creation!"

"No…it would seem as if you are not." He recalled.

I took his hand, yet again. This time he had not flinched.

"My sweet Hawley! Allow me to take ear to your discovery! I wish for nothing but your success and live for nothing but the unearthing of your enthrallment!"

He squeezed my grip.

"Yes, Alice, I shall tell you. I shall tell you all that has become upon me, in my journey of discovery and creation! What unending horrors I have become accustomed to..."

"You shall no longer." I interrupted, quite rudely might I add. I felt full of guilt for it, but my words were far more powerful. "Those horrors you seem to know so well I defy for you. I can promise no more of this nightmare shall come upon you. Here my words, Mr. Griffin, I promise!"

He lifted his finger to my chin, gently. "Hawley, mind you."

I smiled.

At this ghastly hour of night - or shall I say morning, _Hawley _told me his dear story. How he came to study optical density, being on the verge of great scientific discovery, yet feeling uncomfortable working under his professor, and having to leave the university with suspicion and paranoia to a dingy little apartment. Having to rob his own father to fund his continued experiments, his father's act of suicide, and finally after endless nights of working to find the formula to bend light and reduce the refractive index of physical objects, making them invisible. Having to run from the scene of suspicion from his intruding landlord, becoming invisible himself to hide from the latter, setting fire to the apartment building to vanquish his tracks, and wandering the streets of London, struggling to survive out in the open cold, naked. Having to steal some clothes from a dingy backstreet theatre shop, using a trench coat, hat, bandages and goggles to make himself visible to the world (in his strange way!). Taking up residence in the Coach and Horses Inn in the village of Iping, to try and reverse his experiment in a quiet environment, the locals being unnerved by his appearance, and in the result slowing his experimental process and losing his funding, having to then rob the Reverend Bunting, being revealed to the police his invisibility and escaping here...

I found each word simply fascinating-I could not find a better word to describe my emotions for it all. When he was finished, it was nearly four in the morning. I was hopelessly tired. Hawley, on the other hand, seemed more than anything excited.

I yawned, and I believe he noticed my weakness. He looked to me with hopeful eyes, I could only imagine. Though his goggles were no more, and his eyes were now purely invisible, I searched for where they should have been, and thought to have had a well enough idea. I tried looking to them with an understanding expression. The last thing I wished for Mr. Griffin to feel from his two hour story was wasteful! I had been listening intently with far interest. But now, that he was done, the sleepless morning had dangerously caught up with me, noticeably.

He assured me to rest, after his downright engrossing tale. He left the room, candle in hand, and I lay down in my bed with eyes of a wildebeest. How could I believe Mr. Hawley Griffin's tale so true! I saw his lack of hands and face, but could feel the unseen flesh upon my own! I accepted the plot so quickly I had not taken it in, the obscurity of it all. Surprisingly, however, my eyes could not handle the excitement and I fell into a tiresome sleep until morning, where I woke thinking the night previous to be but a dream...

A/N: I got information from the Wikipedia article 'Griffin (The Invisible Man). The poem Alice writes is not mine, it's actually lyrics to a song called 'Ready, Able' by a band named Grizzly Bear.


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